


Heaven is anytime, anywhere

by verdantspace



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, I actually wrote a fic abt winged humans I've stooped that low, M/M, also the setting is very anime like bc I've lost my mind, this is also my first time with the whole soulmate thing pls pardon me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 04:40:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12623404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verdantspace/pseuds/verdantspace
Summary: A perfectly normal high school student by the name of Tim Drake is ready (or not) to face the new semester in a new town. He doesn’t expect to meet three seemingly normal fellow students who happen to carry wings on their backs. Oh, and Tim is the only one who can see the wings. As a result, Tim can only watch, quite helplessly, as his life turns into something out of a summer anime. He can only hope that he’s not destined to be the clueless, wide eyed main character with hidden powers and shitty fate.





	Heaven is anytime, anywhere

**Author's Note:**

> “have u made enough Tim centric story don’t u want to write smth els—”  
> “its fuckin fanfiction brent I do whatever tf I want”
> 
> Anyways I’m sorry I’m still in the middle of writing/editing chapter 5 of Omega Elite ‘verse, so pls bear w/ me yeah? I wuff yall<3 For the time being, pls have another Tim-centric fic hshs u can blame my old playlist for this bc this is the result of listening to EXO-M’s 你的世界 on repeat. Yes I used to rly like (still like sobs) EXO(-M) so sue me. I also played w/ the idea of soulmates for a bit ehe I hope it’s not too cringy...? This also contains some anime cliches lmao yes I am also a weeb lol I’ve exposed myself twice n I have no regrets. Enjoy babes!<3
> 
> Title is, predictably, taken from the song that inspired this whole shenanigan :^) the English translation of it, anyways :’D

Tim doesn’t know what to expect from the start of a new semester in a new town. Well, to be perfectly honest, he kind of _does,_ and like everyone else, he dreads some of them and anticipates the rest. New semester means fresh classes (dreads), school works and assignments (at least he’s taking computer engineering this year), waking up early (spare his _soul_ ), a bunch of clubs trying to recruit him (no, he won’t join the mystery club), constructing lego during lunch breaks (his strategy of finding friends, because he refuses to befriend anyone who doesn’t appreciate lego), skateboard sessions after school (he’s getting better thanks to Star), and the infamous, highly dreaded _romance of youth._ Tim hasn’t prepared his battle plans for that last one.

All of those mundane high school stuff, and then some.

So imagine his surprise when he sees three pairs of wings, sprouting from the backs of three perfectly normal, seemingly ordinary fellow students. They look like they’re his seniors, except for the shortest one, who’s wearing a blue tie instead of red—a characteristic of a junior high student.

The wings vary in size and color, much to Tim’s amazement. The short guy—he’s actually tall for a junior, but he’s still shorter than Tim, dammit, and that’s the only thing that _matters_ —has the biggest pair, majestic and white in color, with golden undertones. The one beside him bears a pair of similarly white wings. They’re smaller, but they’re also the most eye-catching due to the way they shimmer under the sunlight. Tim is, surprisingly, not annoyed by the extravagant display, because the way they shine doesn’t hurt his eyes the way he expects them to. In contrast, they carry a tinge of warmth, as if inviting people to feel the shimmery feathers.

The one he’s most curious with, is the last pair. They rest on the slope of their owner’s strong shoulders, almost as big as Golden Wings, but their most prominent characteristic is the color. Unlike his friends—what exactly is their relationship with each other? Friends? Brothers? Frat brothers? Cult buddies? Tim can only guess—whose wings are white, the last guy’s wings are gray in color, almost sinister if not for the way they’re spread; almost curled around his friends’ figures, as if protecting them. It’s as confusing as it is heartwarming, and Tim almost can’t look away.

When he finally registers that _humans aren’t supposed to have wings,_ Tim doesn’t drop his bag, but it’s a close thing. Trust his brain to send signals for his body to react only when he’s done with initial observations and analysis.

“Wings...?” He mutters dumbly when they’re within earshot, and has to clamp his mouth shut when the three of them stop dead on their tracks.

Shimmery Wings turns to him, blue eyes wide, and he can practically feel how those eyes immediately narrow in suspicion. “What the,” is the only thing he manages, though, and Tim actually expects him to be more coherent than that. Honestly, Tim is supposed to be the one who’s all confused and disjointed.

However, Tim is tempted to turn back and run when Gray Wings stalks toward him, eyes burning with intent. He stands his ground, and finds himself looking into a pair of blue-green orbs, glittering under the sun. “What the _fuck_ didja just say?”

The line is delivered with menace, ending in a barely concealed growl. Holy shit, are high schoolers supposed to _growl_ like that?

“Uh,” Tim begins, returning Gray Wings’ unwavering gaze, “are you supposed to be an angel, because angels don’t threaten innocent bystanders. As far as I know, anyways. Or is it different in heaven? Did you, like, fall from there?”

Tim registers his words _after_ they came out of his mouth, the usual bullshitery that he has to deal with every single day. His word vomit is usually ten times worse when he’s in a tense situation, and this, here, is a testament to that.

Gray Wings looks at him like he’s the one with weird wings sprouting out of his back—they’re not weird, honestly, they’re unfairly _beautiful,_ but humans aren’t supposed to have wings in the first place, so sue him for assigning _weird_ as the chosen adjective—before turning to his comrades, as if he’s at a loss of words. The rest of The Winged Club is quick to join, and Tim draws in a breath when he’s boxed in from every direction by majestically breathtaking ( _weird,_ he reminds himself) pairs of wings.

“You’re new,” Shimmery Wings observes, “freshman?”

Tim nods his assent, turning to look at Shimmery Wings. “Yeah. I just moved here, actually. Kinda missed the memo that this town is full of,” he stares at the wings again, hands twitching at his sides, “winged humans. Creatures? What are you, actually?”

“Keep your voice down,” Golden Wings says, and _holy shit that voice goes deep,_ what the fuck. “This isn’t supposed to be public knowledge, and we would like to keep it that way.”

The full implication of his sentence hits Tim like a freight train. A slightly _late_ freight train, but whatever. The point is, it’s impactful.

“Holy shit, they can’t see?” Tim wheezes, and then points to himself, “I’m the only one who can see? Damn, that’s,” he pauses, looking for the right words, “that’s like a summer anime plot brought to life.”

Golden Wings is supposed to be younger than Tim, but he looks like he’s one second away from launching into a monologue about how Tim is a failed specimen of the human species. Tim narrows his eyes at him because that’s just rude, _junior._

The silence that follows is disconcerting, and that’s putting it mildly.

They’re all putting Tim under scrutiny, but each in his own way. Golden Wings, in addition to the condescending gaze, is looking at him like he’s a specimen to be analyzed and pulled apart. Gray Wings regards him with raw curiosity and a bit of apprehension, as if Tim is a threat to his wellbeing. Shimmery Wings is the most puzzling, because a tiny hint of interest is peeking through the curiosity, and Tim is tempted to scream.

What is this, exactly, an _otome game?_ He mourns inwardly, cursing his decision of erasing his otoges to make space for a full season of Hannibal in his phone. Now he doesn’t have the slightest idea on how to react under the attention.

“Uh, guys,” he says finally, after a tense thirty seconds, “we’re gonna be late.”

That pulls a reaction out of them, and they finally take a few steps back from where Tim is standing.

“Shit!” Shimmery Wings exclaims, “I have student council meeting before class, guys, I gotta hurry.”

Ah, so he’s a member of the student council. Tim should have guessed, really. The immaculately styled wavy hair and the way his uniform fits like something out of a fashion magazine are _dead_ giveaways. He can imagine Shimmery Wings leading a meeting while everyone swoons over him, making goo goo eyes instead of taking notes. Tim makes sure to add ‘don’t join the student council’ into his agenda.

“Jay,” Shimmery Wings calls Gray Wings, and they have a moment of seemingly impossible telepathy, but what does Tim know about winged creatures, really? They could be communicating plans on how to get rid of Tim and where to best hide his body; something that Tim would be afraid of if he’s not confident that he can outwit them.

 _Jay,_ though. Tim wonders what it’s short for. He definitely doesn’t look like a Jamie or a Jeremiah.

“Yeah,” Gray Wings—Jay—answers, turning back to focus on Tim when his comrades have gone their separate ways. The way he moves makes Tim more than a little envious. For such a big guy, he’s surprisingly swift and efficient, fully confident in his own body. _Like liquid silk,_ Tim’s brain supplies helpfully, before Tim mentally tells it to shut the fuck up. He feels large fingers around the bone of his wrist, and doesn’t have the chance to react before Gray Wings starts speaking.

“Come to the rooftop,” Gray Wings tells him, and the almost gentle way he holds Tim’s wrist offsets the hard edge of his gaze, “lunch break. We’ll be waitin’ for ya.”

He sounds matter of fact, less serial killer and more professionally inquisitive, so Tim finds himself nodding. To be perfectly honest, he’s as curious as the rest of them. Gray Wings seems to be satisfied, and he releases Tim’s wrist, patting his forearm in a seemingly friendly manner. The gesture makes something crawl under Tim’s skin, an unnamed emotion making itself known in his hindbrain. For the sake of his own sanity, Tim doesn’t dwell on it.

Gray Wings takes a step back, flashing him a smile. “See ya later, then, uh...” he pauses, gesturing to Tim’s whole being with a wave of his hand.

“Tim,” is the automated answer, “Tim Drake.”

“Tim,” Gray Wings repeats. The simple syllable of his name sounds rough and crass and bizarrely warm, wrapped in Gray Wings’ suspiciously smoky voice. “’kay. Later, man.”

He’s gone in a flurry of white uniform and gray wings. Yet, for some reason, the color that Tim stores inside of his mind to associate with the guy is the blue-green of his irises.

 

***

 

As a man who keeps his words, Tim shows up at the rooftop on lunch break.

He’s carrying his lego set with him, because there’s no way he’s leaving them in the classroom. He’s seen his classmates’ hands, and no, he isn’t about to let their paws anywhere near Krennic's Imperial Shuttle. Gray Wings looks at him and the kit with astonishment, not even bothering to hide his amused chuckle. He coughs into his hand, muttering a _nerd alert_ behind his fist.

Tim flips him the bird for his efforts, and the bastard breaks into laughter. Gray Wings proceeds to shake his head, and then nods as if he approves of something. For the life of him, Tim can't even begin to guess _what._

The four of them engage in stinted greetings and awkward introductions (except for Shimmery Wings, who’s the definition of amicability and confidence when he offers his hand, smiling as he introduces himself as _Dick Grayson_ ). Tim memorizes their names and decides to address the issue.

“So,” he begins, “any idea as to why I can see your supposedly invisible wings?”

“How do you know they’re invisible?” Shimmery Wings—Dick—asks.

Tim shrugs. “Damian said that they’re not supposed to be public knowledge. That means they’re not supposed to be visible, at least not for casual observers that you meet on a daily basis. Judging from your reactions, this is the first time someone—one who doesn’t belong in your inner circle—notices their existence. Honestly, though, I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. I was hoping you guys could answer that.”

Gray Wings—Jason—smirks when Tim finishes speaking. “Yer sharp,” he observes, “and gutsy. Bruce is gonna either love ya or hate ya, kid, n’ I’ll be thoroughly _entertained_ by whichever outcome.”

Golden Wings—Damian—shoots Jason a glare, crossing his hands in front of his chest as he says, “Are you really that stupid, Todd? Must you bring father into this discussion? This man is an unknown variable—”

“Save yer breath, brat,” Jason grits out, “I don’t think he’s gonna be any threat to us, but if he turns out to be one,” the pause is deliberate, and Tim feels an involuntary shiver crawl down his spine when Jason fixes him with a grin, almost feral in nature, “we just gotta take care of ‘im, yeah?”

As if used to be the moderator, Dick lifts his hands in a placating gesture. “Alright, guys, enough,” he says, a barely concealed command, “don’t antagonize him, okay? We’re here to find answers.”

Tim hums, agreeing with him. “I gotta ask you something first, though, is that alright?”

Dick immediately nods his assent as Jason smiles down at Tim, almost challenging. Tim ignores the provocation and carries on with his observation.

“From what I’ve seen, your wings are like a part of you, a limb of sorts? And it seems like they aren’t retractable, as if you can’t pull them inside of your bodies, because the most relaxed I’ve seen them is when you have them folded instead of spread,” Tim pauses, taking a breath, “that means you have the ability to make them invisible, because that would be the only way to hide them. A means of hiding in plain sight, if you will. My question is; how do you make other people see them? Do you simply allow your wings to become visible so everyone in the room, regardless of who they are, can see them? Or do you do something to the spectator—for example, adjust their eyesight or something—so you can control who sees them?” He shrugs, “Second scenario is kind of unlikely, but hey, you guys have _wings._ I won’t be surprised if you’re capable of casting spells or some shit.”

The three of them are silent, and Tim gives himself a mental pat on the back. Making people speechless always feels like an achievement, no matter in what circumstances.

“Impressive,” Dick finally says, almost in disbelief, “you deduces all that just from looking at them?” he gestures to his wings, now unfolded and shimmering beautifully under the sunlight.

“Yea,” Tim answers honestly, “it’s not all that impressive, really, because at the end of it is still a question, isn’t it?” he shakes his head, “I have no idea as to why I’m able to see them, so like I said, I was hoping that you guys could shed some light on the topic.”

Damian curls his lips, looking like it’s eating him from the inside to have to acknowledge Tim. Or at the very least, acknowledge Tim’s analytical skills. Tim bites on the insides of his lips and makes a mental note to go into smartass mode whenever Damian is near.

“I fail to see why the both of you do not see him as a potential threat,” he addresses the older guys, his body tense as a tightly pulled bow, “he knows _too much._ ”

“Dude,” Tim turns to him, frustration coloring his voice, “what part of _I’m as confused as you are_ do you not understand? I’m as desperate for answers as you are, and trust me; if you want me to keep my mouth shut, I will. I wouldn’t have come to this godforsaken rooftop, clearly outnumbered and disadvantaged, if I wanted to bring harm to you or your...kind. Species. Whatever. Can we continue?”

His outburst seems to appease all of them, almost collectively. It’s fascinating to see how their wings move as an integral part of their bodies; Tim can see how they droop, sag, and fold as the owners relax their shoulders. The limb theory seems to be closer to the truth than Tim had initially thought.

“Okay, Tim,” Dick finally acquiesces, “thanks for being honest with us. It seems like we owe you an explanation, after all.”

“Yeah,” Jason tilts his head, “though we gotta warn ya once again; whatever comes to light after this discussion stays in this rooftop. Capiche?”

“Aye,” Tim simply agrees.

Dick offers him a cordial smile before launching into an explanation. “It’s as you’ve said; our wings are a part of us, and yes, they work just like our limbs. We can’t retract them into our bodies because, well. They’re too big and there’s simply no space anywhere in our bodies where we can store them.”

Tim nods, and waits for Dick to continue.

“Because of that little problem, we have to learn to control them,” he explains, “the connection between us and the wings is a little more complex than the one we have with our other limbs. They almost have a subconscious of their own, and the general theory as to why they do, is because they’re able to do things beyond a normal human’s comprehension.”

“The ability to become invisible,” Tim answers, awed.

“Exactly,” Jason raises his voice from beside Dick, “we gotta make a connection with our wings, sorta like makin’ friends. The closer we become, the easier they understand what we want ‘em to do. Bein’ invisible ain’t they only feat they’re capable of, Timmers. We can also make ‘em untouchable, in the literal sense,” Jason reaches behind himself, and sure enough, his hand passes through his wings as if they were never there, “n’ there ya go. A pair of wings, hidin’ in plain sight.”

“Fellow winged humans can see them, regardless of our commands, and that’s how we find one another,” Damian, surprisingly, joins in on the mini lecture, “normal humans aren’t supposed to be able to see them, and as you are clearly not one of our kind, the only explanation is—”

He cuts himself off, as if hesitant to say the next part. Tim visibly deflates because the information they provide truly fascinate him—the idea of winged humans living among them is more exciting than terrifying for him—and Damian stopped at the decisive part.

To his surprise, Damian isn’t the only one who gets all jittery, because the three of them are now looking at one another. Their nervousness is almost tangible in the air, and Tim feels kind of bad. Despite what Dick had said, Tim doesn’t think that any of them owes him an explanation. He’d like to have answers, sure, because he’s naturally inquisitive like that, but if the answer has the potential of exposing—or worse, harming—them and the rest of their kind, then Tim doesn’t have any right to demand it from them.

“Hey, guys, look,” he says carefully, “it’s no problem if you can’t tell me, okay? I’m super interested, not gonna lie, and I’d like to be able to start a research about it, sometime in the future.” At their tense expressions, Tim lifts up a hand in a placating manner. “But I won’t do anything inhuman, okay? I wouldn’t start anything if the persons of interest,” he waves his hand, gesturing to the three of them, “didn’t give me consent. And that applies to this situation, too. There’s like, a famous quote that says _some secrets are better left buried,_ and I can stand by that. Seriously. We can all just walk away and bury the secret. It’s up to you guys.”

Three pairs of eyes turn to him, and in their depths he can see a mixture of emotions; anxiety, a hint of fear, confusion, wonder, amazement, and finally, acceptance. Tim isn’t sure why, but he can feel the atmosphere slowly shifting, making way for something more amiable, but with a different kind of tension lurking underneath. He gulps, anticipating what comes next.

“Tim,” Dick starts, and the softness of his tone makes Tim sigh out a shaky breath, “it’s not that, I promise. When we decided to share the secret with you, we meant to share it in full. It’s weird, I know, but there’s something about you,” he looks at Tim with sky blue eyes, and the smile on his face is as warm as the rays of sun in autumn, “that makes us want to trust you. Can we do that? Trust you?”

It’s a loaded question, and Tim takes a deep breath before nodding, not believing his clumsy tongue at this crucial moment. It’s a heavy responsibility, but he can’t deny that he’s curious; not just about the wings, but also their bearers. At first glance, the three of them look like normal students, and even if Tim takes the wings out of the equation, there’s something about them that’s strangely magnetic.

It’s almost as if Tim would be drawn to each and every one of them regardless of the wings on their backs. That’s a strange thought that should stay uncharted for now, so Tim dismisses the train of thought and focuses back on Dick.

“Okay,” the older man’s chest expands on an exhale, “okay. That’s good. So, usually, normal humans won’t be able to see our wings when we don’t want them to, but there’s this myth,” he pauses, tensing visibly, “that says that there are people who can. These people are supposed to be. Our, uh.”

Tim is tempted to claw the floor when Dick pauses again. The three of them exchange glances between themselves again, and seriously. The suspense is _killing_ Tim.

He waits patiently, though, and is finally rewarded for his virtue when Dick opens his mouth again.

“Soulmate,” he says simply, like it’s a simple thing. As though that one simple word explains the whole circumstances. A part of Tim’s brain that always relies on logic wants to rebel, because _that’s fucking it? Take your fucking myth and shove it up my—_

Time out. It’s a good thing he doesn’t say the last part out loud, because that’s just impolite. Who is he to judge a myth? People have folklores all the time.

The other part of Tim’s brain, on the other hand, the one that recognizes the three of them as attractive guys and maybe, just _maaaaaybe_ acknowledges that one of them could be a potential partner in the aforementioned _romance_ _of youth_ _,_ is .05 seconds away from imploding. The whole soulmate thing isn’t exactly unpleasant, because as he said, _attractive,_ but his mind registers that he can see three _(three!)_ pairs of wings, so that means—

“Um,” Tim vocalizes, because apparently he’s incapable of speech beyond monosyllabic sounds.

“As if, the only way ya can see our wings is if yer our,” Jason offers helpfully as he flashes him a sheepish grin, “soulmate.”

Tim blinks again, and he finally regains his coherency. “But I can see all of your wings. Aren’t soulmates supposed to be a one-on-one thing?”

“That is the bizarre part,” Damian supplies, “we have heard stories of winged humans finding their soulmates through this ability, but never. Never three at the same time.”

Thank you so much for spelling out Tim’s apparent dilemma, Damian, kudos to you.

Tim’s mental self is running around in his brainpan, screaming bloody murder at the unlikelihood of situation, when a thought occurs to him. It’s a fucking crazy thought, but as incredulous as it sounds, Tim is just about ready to accept it as a legit theory. Anything is preferable to having three _(three!)_ hot, winged guys as his soulmates. As in, plural soulmates. Tim has been in relationships, but he’s not experienced enough for anything _plural._

“Dude, that only means one thing,” Tim offers, and he doesn’t care if he’s going to sound like a crazy person who is chest deep in denial. The three of them subconsciously lean forward, as if truly anticipating Tim’s theory, and he feels kind of bad for them already.

“I have a dormant superhero ability of seeing wings on winged humans, and you guys triggered my ability.”

The silence that follows is akin to the graveyard stillness that comes after a stray farting noise in the middle of an ongoing class, but what the hell. Anything to get their minds off of the soulmate theory.

“Ya think this is some kind of superhero origin story?” Jason exclaims, incredulous, to which Tim only shrugs.

“Kinda, yeah. And don’t you dare call me a nerd when you use the phrase _superhero origin._ Hypocrite,” he accuses, wiggling one finger at Jason’s direction.

Dick is the one who guffaws at Jason’s scandalized expression, and Tim can actually see himself hanging out with these guys, if only to make their lives miserable. “Timmy,” the oldest boy manages between bouts of laughter, “I like you already.”

In response to that, Tim wiggles his eyebrows at him. “Thanks, man, I kinda like you, too. Just don’t make it uber awkward by bringing up the soulmate thing, okay? It’s a,” Tim makes the air quote sign, “superpower.”

Damian finally unwinds his crossed arms. “He is so,” he starts, looking at Tim with glassy eyes and referring to him in third person as if Tim isn’t sitting right _there,_ “weird.”

Tim raises his eyebrows. “I thought you were gonna use fancier words. Nice to know you stoop to our level.”

If possible, Dick laughs harder, and Tim is honestly concerned about the state of his throat.

The younger boy obviously takes offence, if the way he bristles is any indication. “Is that supposed to be an insult, Drake?” He does the growl-y thing that Jason did earlier today, and Tim has a suspicion that they practice together. It fits them, though, in a really peculiar way, and Tim finds himself wondering if Dick does it, too.

 _Stop right the fuck there, brain,_ he mentally screams.

“Take it however you want, brat,” he challenges back, “I don’t really care, either way.”

The response to his remark is the furrowing of aristocratic brows. Tim is honestly expecting Damian to jab him with another verbal attack, but he remains silent. The angry lines of his face slowly make way for something softer but no less intense; something like _determination,_ and Tim’s eyes go wide when the younger boy fixes wild green eyes on him. Before Tim can properly react, Damian clicks his tongue and averts his gaze, crossing his arms in front of his chest once again.

It may just be Tim’s imagination, but the golden undertones of his wings get more intense, successfully robbing Tim of witty clapbacks.

“Jay, did he just make Dami shut up?” Dick stage whispers, and Tim kind of wants to punch him right on his perfect teeth.

“Didn’t expect this semester to begin with a bang, Dickie, but here we are,” Jason asserts, a grin splitting his face almost clear in half. The anticipation in his voice is obvious when he says, “Not to sound like a creepily attached fiancé ‘coz the whole soulmate thing is still tentative,” he blurts out, “but we really, really gotta take ya home to meet Bruce.”

Damian frowns at that, and he regards Tim with something akin to—is that worry? “Father will not be pleased.”

“Oh, please,” Dick waves a hand in dismissal, “he can already see his sons’ wings, so Bruce will have to suck it up and face the situation like an adult he is.”

Tim can hear the hint of sarcasm at the end of Dick’s sentence, and he wonders what kind of dynamic this Bruce character has with his sons.  

“Besides, we still have to prove the validity of your,” Dick gives Tim a sidelong glance, complete with a decorated smirk, “superhero ability. We have to eliminate all the possibilities, even the impossible ones, to be able to make way for the final deduction, right?”

Tim fails to find his words. His gaze flickers to the ground for a second, and when he raises his head, what he sees almost takes his breath away. Dick, Jason, and Damian have unfolded their wings, and for some reason, Tim can see them better now—is that intentional? Tim can’t help but to ponder. Three sets of wings, differing in size and color, are spread to their limits, the edges of their feathers flirting with the sky above. It’s a magnificent sight, and Tim takes it all in with hungry eyes. He doesn’t even care that they can see the way his eyes are practically twinkling in wonder; he is only human, after all.

“Uh. Yeah, Dick, sure. What Sherlock said.” He finally manages in a breathless voice, and is rewarded with Jason’s boisterous laugh, Dick’s unbridled grin, and Damian’s cocksure smirk.

“Oh, babe,” Jason says, and Tim doesn’t miss how the pet name slides so easily out of his mouth, “yer gonna make this semester really, _really_ interesting for us.”

As if responding to their bearer’s enthusiasm, the gray wings give a single flap. Tim swallows, and wonders if the strange mixture of fear and excitement that he’s feeling right now is akin to what a baby bird feels, just as she’s about to make a leap of faith; testing her wings for the very first time.

**Author's Note:**

> hoooo Lordt this is like crack of the highest order but I had fun writing it?? Hope this work makes u smile bc I was smiling the whole time while I was writing/editing.
> 
> PS. I didn't put in any pairing in the tags bc I feel like this fic is very gen?? They may be (possible) soulmates but they haven't acted on it or put any effort into pursuing a relationship so,, I think this is accurate w/o a pairing? Aaaa but I'm still confused pls tell me in the comments if u think otherwise! :^)
> 
> As always babes feel free to hmu on twitter ;) [@timmydraqe](https://twitter.com/timmydraqe)


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